The Last Agent Creation
by reinforced hell
Summary: In which Harry's mother had been the only disciple of Doctor Delriego he thought was worthy of his teachings. Non cannon compliant.
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

There was one thing that Harry had no way of knowing. That was that he was the product of his mother's experimentation. See, what Harry had no way of knowing was that his mother was not just a witch. No, she was also a doctor.

She was a doctor in the field of biology, in fact. She had worked alongside a very special man. This man was the founder of a special genetics research program in the past. This program's focus was on creating the perfect assassin. It was about the creation of a human that was not human at all. They were to be made without any of the emotions that would make a human, human. They were to be made without emotions.

They were called Agents - the perfect assassins. They were smarter than a human and had the distinct advantage of being able to take in and perceive the world with astonishing capability.

Lily Potter nee Evans was the only person that the older geneticist had taught how to make an Agent. She was the only one, a young girl that had been extraordinarily brilliant in the area of medical science, at the tender age of fifteen. She was the only one to be lucky - or misfortunate - enough to be taught the secrets of the Agent programme.

She was misfortunate in the way that agencies all across the globe had been hunting for the secrets of the Agent programme. She was the only one that the brilliant scientist had deemed deserving of knowing, deserving of carrying on the knowledge of the older man.

The man had once said that Lily Potter reminded him of his late wife. She had not known what to think of that particular knowledge. She had dubbed it unimportant, however, and so just had it in the back of her mind.

So, when it was discovered by her that she was infertile, she had dusted off her doctorate degree and had gotten to work in her home lab. She had been forced to create another Agent, as after a year of searching she had not found a solution other than creating an Agent.

So, she had used what she was taught by her mentor to have a child. But she wasn't a genetics prodigy for no reason. She had advanced her child's everything, really. Anything that she thought would advance her son's chances.

The first nine of her attempts failed since she had strayed from the original method. But the tenth was what she could consider perfect.

Her mentor had once told her that he had gone all the way up to ninety versions. How fitting it was that the hundredth version of the Agent programme was her son. Cent, french for one hundred and pronounced as 'son'. Her son was the one-hundredth version of Agent, and the most perfect she could get him to be.

He was even perfect enough, genetically and subsequently magically, to withstand a killing curse to the head.


	2. 1: Awakening

Chapter 1

Something had happened when Harry had been struck by a killing curse. It wasn't just that Harry had just been turned into a living Horcrux, either. No, what had happened was that all of his genetic alterations relative to his mind and magic were stunted. They were stunted and hidden in the worst way.

That was until he had been killed by the hands of his aunt and uncle's mistreatment.

Something had happened when the boy had died. That something happened to be the death of a Horcrux. Without something by which to leech off of, the parasite died along with its host. With the Horcrux out of the way, Harry's own unique abilities were able to shine through. His magic was fully released, to be fully and readily available for Harry. More than that, Harry's own extra engineered abilities were unblocked.

These abilities allowed for Harry to take quite a beating, and still live to tell about it. It also meant that he was quite hard to kill. But that was only his biology. If he were to be killed "gently", the magic that the boy would come to call his own would naturally lend its aid.

See, for a normal magical - pardon the oxymoron - their magic would naturally make them hardier. It would make sense, given how evolution worked. It would either favour those that could multiply faster than what was killing them, or it would favour that which would make the species hardier; the harder it was to kill something, the greater chance it was for their species to live.

Harry had not known this, but evolution followed both of these paths for humans. There was the hardy strain - the one that had magical talents and thusly were able to take quite a beating. For example, they had a sport in which cannonballs were batted around at players. Sure, it would hurt plenty, but it wouldn't normally kill a player. Even if they were hit in the head by said iron bludger. Of course, Harry had no way of knowing this.

Back to what had been happening. Harry woke in an unfamiliar place. He took in his surroundings, detailing all that was around him. Somehow, he knew that he was alone wherever he was. He was wrapped up in cloth, from what Harry could tell it was the same as that of what his makeshift bedding was. That was to say: rags.

He was tied up, but it was done sloppily. It didn't take long for Harry to get himself out of the bindings he had woken up to being kept in. It was at that time that he sensed another getting closer to him. They were heavy footsteps, leading young Harry to believe it was the fat man. Strangely, Harry had not felt the normal fear that came over him when the fat man was near.

Harry heard a door open, and he knew then where he was. He was in the trunk of a car, wrapped up in rags to be taken God only knew where. He needed out. With that realisation also came the instinctive knowledge of exactly what to do.

Seeing as he was too small to really do anything properly, Harry had come up with something that he could use in lieu of this shortcoming. Somehow, he instinctively knew that there was something aiding him. There was a force within him that could do a great many things, and Harry knew that he could do those things: he need only ask.

Harry quickly shoved the coverings aside, unravelling himself so as to better see the world around him. He did not know it, but he was only able to see in the darkness around him because his eyesight had been improved not only by his biology; his magic automatically had assisted him in any task he needed to be accomplished in any way it could.

This mattered little to the young boy, he was just glad that he need not rely solely on his other senses in his environment. He could, he knew that well, but it was a boon not to be forced to.

Harry knew that the fat man was easy to anger, therefore he knew not to make too much noise in the chance that the fat man would hurt him. What he needed was a way to get out of the trunk, and it would be best if the fat man was not prompted to take any more precautions of Harry escaping. So, he resolved himself to choose a silent way of escape.

Harry let his senses expand, and take over. He let them tell him how to proceed and took all their observations in stride. When his senses had completed their thorough examination - including the force within him - of his situation, he put that situational report to good use.

From what little he had seen of the outside - a foreign place by which Harry was forbidden - he knew that it was suburban. He knew not what the word meant, not really, but he did know that there was a good chance that a police officer would be patrolling around that area. Despite what most would think, or would like to think, certain areas of the city did get special attentions.

With this in mind, Harry decided to knock out the tail lights of the car he was in. He had to do it quietly, though, as again he did not wish to alert the fat man. By the time that Harry had been able to knock the tail light out of the socket, the car had sped up significantly, signifying that it had gone onto the motorway. From what he could see through the relatively large hole, it was still daylight, and there were other drivers on the road. He wondered if any had seen him kick out the tail light.

If they had, then good. That was what he was going for. He had stuck his arm out of the hole, waving it around.

It wasn't long before he heard the sirens, and saw the familiar - even to a recluse such as him - yellow, white and blue vehicle following. The lights were flashing, and there appeared as though there was no indication of it passing. Harry thought to add in his own personal flare to it. Well, Harry was too young to really know what his personality was, but he did it anyway because he thought it would be fun. He was four, after-all. So, Harry waved to the approaching police car.

It was not long that the fat man had caught the memo. He had then made his swerve onto the side of the road, and slowed the vehicle to a halt. The officer of the other vehicle had followed in behind him. It was then that it was revealed that another car had been behind the first Harry saw. That second police car had gone out and Harry assumed to have parked in front of the civilian car he was imprisoned within.

Harry saw an officer get out of the police car and then had approached where he was. By then the one from the front had arrived at the driver's window, another at the passenger side window. The driver was asked to step out of the car, and to open the trunk.

The visibly sweating lump of fat had done as instructed, with no other option but to obey. That was, to step out of the vehicle. He had exercised his right to object to the opening of his trunk. At that moment both he and the passenger - a horse-looking woman that was quite skinny.

The cops had opened the trunk regardless of the man's wishes, as they had a reasonable cause.

When Harry was treated to the harsh light of the outside world, he had immediately shied away and had backed up further into the depths of the trunk. Silently, the cop that had opened the trunk had nodded to his coworker, which had finally signalled the arrest of the two in the car.

Harry had not the knowledge of who the two were. He had been a very intelligent four-year-old before his death, but he still had been stunted by the presence of a Horcrux in his body. He had only the notion of who they were, not their names. He knew they were supposed to be taking care of him, as he was not supposed to be able to do so yet at that age. He also knew where they lived, and that he was being mistreated.

Still, he knew no the names of his tormentors, the reason why they had him, or why they disliked him so.

That being said, he had set forward on a quest for this knowledge.

* * *

Harry had been very cooperative with the authorities. Well, what was acceptable of a four-year-old that would have found himself in his position.

That was until they made the mistake of having them in the same room as each other - if only briefly. It was an honest mistake, really, but he had taken full advantage of it. He wanted the two dead, after all. Right there in the police station, in full view of all to see, four-year-old Harry had killed the two adults that had wronged him so.

It had been very easy for him to do it, too. Harry had acted before anyone else could react, let alone stop him.

Harry had run towards the couple-in-chains. He had taken up a nearby letter opener that was left on a desk, and with it had first stabbed the woman in the chest, right where her heart was. Then, using her as a sort of springboard as she still had the strength to stand as she died, he had vaulted off of her at the fat man. He had cut the man's throat and had let the man choke on his own blood.

A day later, harry was able to find the Dursley residence one more. There, at number 4 privet drive, was swarming with policemen. He had been able to slip easily into it, despite all of the police on the premises. There was a very large concentration of people where his cupboard was located. It didn't matter, as that was not what Harry was going for.

It was very important to note that even before Harry's death, he was a very intelligent child. He had even been able to learn how to read by the age of three. Of course, he couldn't read all that well at the time, having not the mental capability nor the experience to make much sense of the complicated words. He was still able to read the basics then, though. His comprehension was poor, but he could still read it. By four, his comprehension was improved, but not by much.

It was for this reason that Harry knew to go back to the Dursley's. He had found once, during a rather rebellious stint, that there was a rather personal note and journal that Harry needed to go back for.

He didn't know how he knew, but somehow he knew that the journal was written by his mother, whomever that was.

So Harry had gone back for it, for sentimental reasons. He hadn't the foggiest that what was contained within those pages was the answer to his being alive, nor what made him so special.

He also hadn't the foggiest clue that people would kill for the contents of that journal.

* * *

 **A/N: If you hadn't noticed, I'm not following cannon. For those of you that follow my other stories, you might understand my view on following of canon too closely.**

 **That being said, I'm not following the standard timeline in this story. You'll see why later on. Though I do feel it pertinent to note that I haven't written any more chapters yet, at the moment that I posted this. I also hadn't come up with a solid plot line yet.**


	3. 2: Family Reunion

**Chapter 2**

* * *

There was something about completing a contract that just got to Harry. Well, it didn't have to be a contract, per say. It could be any real action, really, but Harry preferred taking out targets. It was the hardest prey to go after, and as far as he was concerned humans always were.

His current target was Agent 50. There was a description in the file about him, namely that the man was extremely dangerous, but Harry knew this already. He was quite aware of the dangers an Agent proposed. He was, after all, the only one that was able to take one down other than multiple Agents or a second generation. Harry, himself, could be considered a third generation Agent.

According to his mother's journal, he was the last version of Agent. Apparently, there was one just before him, a girl named ninety. Well, ninety in French, so it sounded less like a number and more like a name.

When Harry thought about it, he reasoned that the Agents could be considered his cousins, or Uncles. He wasn't sure which. He settled for Aunts/Uncles as his mother had learned how to create him from the man that created the Agents. So, that man was his grandfather in a poetic sense, thus the Agents were his Aunts/Uncles.

In Harry's ten-year-old - although highly matured - mind, he truly did see it as a family of Assassins. From this, Harry had made it a rule not to kill any of his Uncles/Aunts. Or, at least, give them the benefit of the doubt.

If they proved themselves to be more relatives and not family - like the Dursleys - then Harry would treat them like anyone else. That was to say coldly, and calculatingly.

It was fairly simple for young Harry to slip into the skyscraper unnoticed. What with all of the chaos afforded by the helicopter crashing into the building. that , and his small stature was a boon in this effort.

Harry had followed the Agent he was hunting, and the Agent had gone into an elevator that led up to the roof. Harry concentrated, and at the same time, he had let his mind relax. It was an odd sensation, something that he had been doing since he was four. Not that he actually knew how old he was, he could only guess as to how old he was based on his earliest memories and how many years of memory he had available to him.

Back to what he was doing with his senses. Mentally Harry mapped the entire building they were in, every single thing there was to know about the building Harry now knew. It was as though he was the architect of the skyscraper, as well as all the collective people that had been the ones to put it together.

When Harry had first discovered this ability of his he had not understood fully what his senses were telling him. After that, he had read up on all that he could about architecture, plumbing, and a building's electrical systems. Now he could map out an entire building and understand it too.

When Harry had been in need to be invisible, a power within him had answered his plea. It was the very same power that had been with Harry for as long as he could remember. But it was only after Harry's first - and only as far as he knew - death at the age of four that Harry truly became aware of and communicated with that power.

It was the same power that was a companion to Harry, a constant, ever-present friend. A sentient being that Harry had been in symbiosis with all his life. Yet, it was still as much a part of him as his brain was.

As it was, Harry had asked to become intangible at that moment, and he entered into the gaseous state. In the state, Harry perceived the world in shades of grey, and cloud-like. It had taken Harry a while when he had found this state that he could move through walls. Once more, in this state, it appeared as though the normal laws of physics need not apply, for he was able to float above the ground amongst other things.

He had grinned childishly when he had realised this, and he had put great use to it. He had been able to go anywhere he wanted, invisibly without walls affecting him. It also wasn't long before he integrated this into his own unique fighting style.

He used that same gaseous state to his advantage at the moment and had propelled himself forward, and had stopped inside of the moving elevator. It had taken a very long time before he could follow along inside of a moving object, but he managed. After all, his job required it.

When Harry was in a favourable position, for him, he had returned from the gaseous state. He had immediately taken the man out of commission while he was checking his gun's ammunition. Harry supposed that of all places, it would make sense that they would do so in an elevator as there was supposed to be no plausible entry points, nor anyone else there.

This all only helped Harry. He had used a nice little needle to inject some very effective drugs into the hitman's body. Then, Harry had gone back to intangibility before the hitman could see him or, worse, fight back. It didn't stop Agent 50 from searching for Harry, though.

Not that he had much time to search. It only took seconds for the Agent to succumb to the drug, and that was the time it took for the elevator doors to open. They opened to the sight of a man and an Agent holding a gun pointed in the direction of the elevator. When they had seen only an unconscious Agent there they had then shifted their faces to show a confused visage.

Harry couldn't help it if he wanted to. Seeing as an Agent was sent to kill another Agent, he figured that he was relatively safe from getting shot. So he wanted to introduce himself.

The woman had just turned her head slightly to the side and opened her mouth before the Agent had said, "I have no idea." It was the first time this happened while with the girl; Harry could tell from the way that the girl lowered her gun and moved to fully face the Agent with a befuddled expression.

It was only then that Harry had gotten a good look at the girl, and had recognised her as the ninetieth iteration of Agent. It was also then that Harry decided to reveal and introduce himself.

Harry returned from the gaseous reality, and thus became visible to his Aunt and Uncle, with his unconscious Uncle on the floor.

* * *

Katia van Dees was surprised when the Agent she knew was coming had arrived in a way that he did. That arrival was in the form of the Agent being unconscious on the floor, with a gun in each hand.

She had turned to ask Agent 47 what had happened. Before she could ask, however, he had responded, "I have no idea." That surprised her more than the fact that an Agent after their lives showed up incapacitated. Truly, though, she expected the Agent to have trapped the elevator or something so that the operatives he thought after the both of them did not make it to them alive.

* * *

Agent 47 had not lowered his weapon yet, as he would rather have it readied in this situation of unknowns. He had been right to, and that reason was apparent when a moment after he voiced his thoughts on the matter, there was a boy that suddenly appeared. 47cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows in question. The boy answered by way of cocking his head slightly to the side and raising one eyebrow of his own.

Then, the boy had said, "I didn't know who his target was; I must admit I'm quite surprised to see you two, though not unhappy.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have something of importance to attend to, if you don't mind. Unless, of course, you don't mind helping?" The boy looked at them expectantly, as though there really was no question in them helping the strange boy.

Katia had decided to skip the pleasantries and had instead trained her weapon at the boy, and asked, "Who are you? How did you just appear? Why is there an Agent on the floor? And more importantly, how old are you?!"

* * *

Harry shifted his main attentions from the female interrogator to the male version of the duo. Then, he had teased seriously, "Is she always like that?" The Agent smirked, which was a very promising thing in Harry's book. Normally Agents didn't have emotion, so it appeared as though this one was at least slightly deprogrammed.

Then, Harry decided to humour the girl, "As for your questions, Mrs. 90, in terms that someone like you two would understand, I am iteration one-hundred. But for simplicities' sake, you may call me Harry."

Harry wasn't wrong to assume that they would know what that meant. He was also not wrong to assume the two would make the information in with no small amount of disbelief. He had also accounted for the rather violent reaction he would receive from the Agent. Said violent reaction was in the form of the Agent having fired their gun point-blank at Harry.

Instead of what would normally happen when someone was shot, the bullet didn't kill Harry. No, Harry was too happy with his life in order to let something as silly as a bullet kill him. That wasn't to say the bullet didn't hit him; the Agent's aim was true enough for the bullet to strike him right where his heart would be.

When the bullet struck his clothing, it had scrunched up and embedded itself in the material. Newton's laws had still had some basis in that reality, so Harry had staggered from the impact. He had been ready for it, so he did not stagger by much. He had also been ready for the other shots until an entire magazine was emptied by the Agent into his chest.

Well, 'at' to be more precise, as the bullets never actually entered his torso. When the man in the - somehow still - pristine suit had finished firing, Harry had steadied himself. Then he had looked at the man with an irritated look on his face, and had said, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you."

It wasn't the man that had answered but the girl next to him - Harry's Aunt in a sense, "Because he won't try to kill you anymore, and you would be doing the work of the target you were sent to kill." It was said with a glare more at the Agent than as a response to Harry, but he took it anyway.

"Alright, fine. Now are you going to help me move him or what?"

* * *

 **A/N: I just realised that I had yet to upload this chapter, and I haven't the slightest idea as to why. Maybe I thought I hadn't finished it for some strange reason, but at the moment it looks finished.**


	4. 3: Creepy Getaways

Chapter 3: The Hidden Journey

* * *

The police were frozen in place after the rather morbidly impressive feat that the small boy had achieved, and had only come to their senses when that very boy moved towards the exit to the station.

Harry had started to calmly make his way over to the door representing his freedom and dropped the weapon he used to murder his late relatives as he did so. Before he got far, an officer had hastily reacted in the form of grabbing hold of Harry's shoulder. Harry had had a flashback to many moments when people had done that, and in his limited experience it had never boded well for him.

Harry had yelped at being touched, his voice taking on the same pattern as when he had burned himself once on the oven because his late relative had not seen fit to warn the toddler of Harry's past away from the oven. In short order Harry had gotten the officer to unhand him; in shorter order, Harry had started off in decidedly faster pace than before, towards his sunlit freedom.

The lobby of the precinct was unnaturally busy that day, so Harry's work was already cut out for him in the form of manoeuvring through the mass of bodies to the exit, let alone with the added disadvantage of every person there trying to impede his progress.

Even those Harry recognised as Lawyers were attempting to stop the boy from running away which he thought was weird. Didn't one of the Skinny One's "friends" say something about "no good barristers" undermining the justice that was the police force? It hardly mattered at that moment, for all were trying to stop the child from reaching his goal.

Left, right, under and even over Harry had dodged, evading the much stronger and farther reach of the adults. Near the end of Harry's short dash out of the building, there was someone blocking the door, standing in the way of Harry's escape. Harry didn't bother to care who they were, he only wanted free.

Harry saw an opening in the way that the man stood. He had his legs spread shoulder width apart - far enough that Harry could slip through. He ran at the man that was bent slightly forward, preparing to catch him, but at the last moment Harry dropped down onto his knees to slide on through. Harry ducked backwards so that he was out of reach of the man while he slid by, and the man attempted to bend down further and grab him.

Unfortunately for the man, Harry had once seen something rather funny on the telly once, though not without the chance of great harm upon him if one of Them caught him doing so. Harry couldn't help but try to see if it actually worked, so Harry balled his hand into a fist and struck upward betwixt the man's legs.

Thankfully for the constable, he was wearing his athletic's cup and the strike hadn't hurt as much as it would have otherwise. In fact, Harry had shaken his hand after that, to get the sting out of his hand. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to strike something with a closed fist. Harry took note of this for the future, as well as the fact that perhaps not everything seen on the telly was such a good idea to replicate.

There were people that had given chase for Harry after the four-year-old had run out into the street. The passing vehicles had screeched to a halt and swerved to avoid the boy running across the road. Harry added running across a busy street to the newly created list of things that he shouldn't do. The constable after him had almost been hit by a car, too, so dedicated they were to catch the elusive boy.

Soon enough Harry had led the chase into a crowd, and from there it was relatively easy for Harry to lose those giving chase in the crowd. Harry then began to slowly move away towards a destination, not even he was aware of.

* * *

It wasn't long before Harry had begun to become tired. His little legs could only go on so far, and he was quite aware that he was not properly nourished as well as the next four-year-old. So, it was not surprising that harry chose to sit on the bench that he was near to.

It didn't take long before Harry was questioned on what he was doing, and understandably so, considering that it would look fairly odd that a four-year-old would be resting on a park bench alone. True the park was near a residential area, and it was in the early nineties, so these things were normally overlooked. However, it was not so easily overlooked when Harry was so young. Too young, in fact, to be out of sight of a minder for any substantial length of time.

In fact, one such a man had picked up on this very thing and had started to approach the young boy. Harry sensed the man's approach and eyed him warily, yet with a fair amount of very well hidden interest. The man had knelt down in front of Harry and had started with, "Hello there. My name is Will, what's yours?"

The man wore a kind, disarming smile; it was the kind of smile that was meant to disarm those that it was directed at. If it wasn't for Harry's short past, he would have trusted that smile, along with those twinkling eyes. It was from Harry's minimal past experiences that kept him on edge, but he hid his anxiety from the stranger in favour of acting like a normal kid. "My name's Kev'n, but Mum says I'm not s'pose to talk to stwangrrs," Harry purposefully slurred to make himself sound more innocent and normal; the last thing Harry wanted to do was attract more attentions to himself after what he had done at the police station. It was also the reason why he made a name up that would be considered normal in every mainly English speaking country.

He didn't regret his actions, though he knew that others would not look too kindly upon him for it.

"Lucky thing that you know my name, then; that means I'm not a stranger, right?" The man - Will - replied. Harry's response to those words was a hesitant nod. Will had looked pleased with this, and had continued with, "Now that that's cleared up, can you tell me where your parents are, Kevin?"

If Harry was in show business, he probably would have been able to easily gain an Emmy or an Oscar for the act he put up. That was to say, Harry's suddenly wide and terrified eyes frantically searching the area was a very good act to solidify the "Lost Boy" scene he was going for. To add to the effect, Harry started to hyperventilate, and the effect on the man was immediate.

Like any normal person, when Will was confronted with a clearly frightened child, he sought to remedy the situation. With a very soft voice, Will started, "Hey now, there's no need for that. Here, come with me, we'll find your parents." Mildly, Will had extended his hand for Harry to take. With very exaggerated hesitance, Harry reached out and took the man's rough hand.

When Harry felt the hand, his mind went into overdrive into what that would mean, and analysing everything else that was new about the man. His mind told him that the roughness of the hand meant he often used his hands, so that meant the man could have a job where menial labour was a requirement. The grip was strong, which supported that assumption. However, from the man's actions and age, it suggested that he was probably retired and continued to work or had laborious hobbies, and was familiar with how to treat children. When Harry had positioned his tiny finger over where he knew to be where he could feel the heartbeat, his brain told him that the man would have a high stamina; if Harry needed to run away from the man, he would not be able to outrun him.

Harry had no way of knowing that his instincts had interpreted the slow, strong beat of the man's heart as a sign of high stamina, nor that it was his instincts that made him place his finger at the right spot to read it.

It was interesting to note for a proper analysis as to what kind of person, exactly, Harry was dealing with. So far, he had not found any hint of the man being anything other than exactly what he proposed to be, but he knew that the most dangerous of people tended to be the ones that tried their hardest to look innocent. He was living proof of that; at least, he intended to be.

* * *

It didn't take long before the two males had made it to the elder's home. During the route, when the man had noticed the subdued pace that Harry had been walking, he had correctly assumed it was from tiredness and had then picked the diminutive boy up to carry him the rest of the way.

When they had arrived, it was late enough for the evening meal to be served, and so Will had put something rather simple together in the short time allotted to him. He had made soup and had served both Harry and himself, before both he had set Harry to bed.

So Harry had lain there in a rather large, empty bed alone in a strange man's home, waiting to go to sleep. He had gone over the events of the day and had only then realised that he had not a drop of blood on him when logistically speaking he should have been covered from the arterial spray from the Dursley's necks being sliced open.

He distinctly remembered the surrounding people being covered, but miraculously somewhere between putting the two monsters down and escaping the notice of the police, he was cleaned.

He would have to look into this later, but at that moment, his young body demanded rest.

* * *

Sometime after Harry had fallen asleep - rather early for an adult, but a normal time for a young lad, Will had joined him in the only bed in the house. After hearing a slight whimper from the boy he had picked up earlier, he had held him to offer some comfort. The man had fallen asleep rather easily, within the comfort of his own home, and had slept easily through the night.

It was only in the morning that things had gotten a little troublesome for him.

When Harry had woken up in an unfamiliar place and had a strong man's arm around him, he had been thrown into a state of panic. In this panic, his mind had rationalised the arm as restraining not comforting, which had only fueled his panic. It did not help that he was assaulted of memories of the harm The Fat Man would do if he had restrained Harry for a punishment.

Then, Harry's instincts took over. He knew that there was a rather sharp object in the nightstand drawer, and he had immediately reached for it. He pulled out the knife that was kept there, and had then stabbed wildly behind him, unwittingly but instinctively going for vital areas so that the man his stabs were directed at would die as quickly as possible.

With this kept in mind, it was an understatement that Will had a rather rude awakening the morning of his death.

When sense returned to the young Harry, he was not horrified by his actions, more annoyed that he now lost a rather good asset for no good reason. Then again, at least now he would not have to deal with sneaking away from, or directly running from the man as he had earlier planned. He was not stupid, he knew that a good person like the man he had just killed would have called the police as soon as possible to inform them of the lost kid now found.

He had had time to think last night, though, about where he wanted to go. He used the bussing system to travel to surrey, seeing how it was convenient and free for rather young minors, and to where he knew his late Aunt and Uncle had called home, and his personal prison. There were some things in that house that he had a rather personal attachment to, that he could not just leave behind.

* * *

When the police had investigated the crime scene in one William Jones' home, they had found enough evidence to get a good idea as to who had killed the respected man. The bloodstains, size of the fingerprints, and how the man was stabbed indicated that the murderer was quite small.

Further investigation of the immediate area indicated what the motive the child might have had for killing the man in the bed. Found within the closet of the deceased was a collection of damning photos of a rather illicit subject matter. It was suggested that perhaps the child was a victim of such subject matter, and had taken it out on the man in the bed.

This theory was supported by the fact that the bloodstains were concurrent with the child having laid in the bed, and the man was not wearing normal pyjamas when he was found.

At one point it was suggested that the man was killed off by the same boy that had killed the Dursley pair. The evidence supported that the Dursley's were complicit with extreme child abuse, and they had been killed off by a child themselves; this case seemed rather similar to that one, and the man was killed in a similar manner - by way of a blade to the throat.

Someone - a rather inebriated fellow at the pub - had been the one to propose the idea that it was the same boy. It was only after a thoughtful serjeant had looked over the circumstance and had determined that it was within walking distance for a young boy to walk.

These rumours whispered both in cop bars and shady pubs alike would only gather steam as time went on, until finally, it would become a full blown legend and superstition for criminals to fear and police to dread. The police would be dreading the paperwork required from such things, of course, as they wouldn't really care if some scum was killed off.


	5. 4: Polytechnic

Chapter 4

* * *

When Harry had been alone in the world, unable to show his face to any officials in fear that they might recognise him and bring him in, it did not take him long to result to crime to sustain himself. It was child's play for Harry to swiftly and efficiently seal that which he needed.

It was made especially easy for Harry not to get caught as he was genetically enhanced to give him the best possible chances of success in anything he applied himself to.

Eventually, it came to the point where Harry began wanting to do more than just survive; he wanted to live. So, Harry had done the logical thing in furthering his exploits in crime: he had investigated some avenues of particular individuals where he could sell some particular items to without them asking just where he had gotten it. Then he had made contact, had started to sell them items that either the individuals requested or Harry just happened to "find" during some of his "liberation" efforts.

It was going well, too; Harry had visited the local library whenever possible to further his understanding of the world, and he had managed to apply that knowledge in his line of work. Through his detective skills, he was able to find someone that looked past his age and provided him with a place to live - so long as he paid his rent.

Harry found that if enough money was involved in their favour, people tended to become rather gullible. Of course, they weren't renting a studio apartment to a child, they were renting it out to a vertically challenged man that had a lake of discrimination against him because of said challenge.

Through Harry's expanding knowledge of technology, prompted by the rapidly evolving world of technology and all of the avenues it presented, he was able to fashion himself a few online contacts whereupon they would provide him with some - rather illegal - weaponry.

Harry didn't know why he wanted to spend what amounted to as a fortune on these items that he would most likely never, but his instincts were firm in their belief of having something and not needing it, yet needing it but not having it.

Eventually, Harry's work led him to other countries, and he had gotten himself a fake passport by stealing someone else's and creating his own from the way the one he stole was made. He didn't stop at the physical object, however. His extensive knowledge of technology let Harry know that passports were not checked just by way of examining the passport itself. No, they were held digitally and referred back to so as to make it all the more difficult for a forgery to go by undetected.

It did happen even if the passport was not entered into the system, but only rarely.

Harry chose not to take that unnecessary risk, and instead had taken the slightly less risky - to him - option of hacking into the various government databases and change the data there so that his passport would appear - for all intents and purposes - to be legit.

Now all he had to do was make himself appear as a rather short businessman than a child, to keep with his thin story he told his landlord.

* * *

During one of Harry's many heists, he had started off with a rather standard start. He had all of the relevant information from his contacts and he had monitored the mansion in question for some time to confirm said data.

While the stages leading up to the actual act went without incident, the same could not be said for when Harry went to acquire what was un-rightfully his.

Harry had entered from the roof of the complex-like building, as that led to a better strategic starting point for the "liberation" of the painting he was after.

The target had been stolen from a legitimate owner once before, only to exchange hands again through another act of theft. This was repeated for a very long time before it finally ended up in one Salvadore Revonov - the son of an Italian maiden and Russian bear - that had made himself out to be a rather wealthy cocaine supplier. He also happened to be the last on the ever-growing list of people to have stolen the highly sought after painting.

Harry did not know what made the damn thing so sought after, as in his honest opinion it was a rather crude representation of an even worse image. Then again, he had only seen a picture of what he was supposed to steal.

Harry had eased his way into and through the third story window. He scoffed at the hole in the man's defences; just because it was improbable that someone would try to get in through the third story window facing a cliff face did not mean it was impossible. Harry knew from his profession that no matter how small the chance of something succeeding, there will always be those insane - or desperate - enough to try. It only took one to get through your defences before they were pointless.

If Harry had to provide an example to support his claim, he would say something along the lines of, "That's how I managed to introduce good old Aunt and Uncle Dursley to sharp, pointy things."

Harry had stalked through the halls closer to his target - well, perhaps 'stalk' was not the appropriate word, as Harry actually looked like a child separated from his parents at a superstore.

If that superstore was exclusive to "the one percent", that was.

See, what most people seemed to fail to realise was that it was fairly stupid to be dressed in all black like a bloody cat burglar. Not only was it illegal to "dress suspiciously in public" for most countries - including democratic ones - increasing the likelihood to rise unwanted attentions upon the wearer, but it also had the added disadvantage as clearly identifying yourself as someone out to do dishonest deeds. Thus, it took away nearly any opportunity to talk your way out of getting caught - or worse, shot at.

Harry knew this, and he played being an eight-year-old to his utmost advantage. He dressed as being a rather wealthy person's son so that he could play the card of being a lost guest's child. It would pull any heartstrings a normal human being would have of simply being a child, as well as having the added benefit of making any guard hesitate to manhandle a guest's son.

It had worked wonders in his early career and had dressed as a poor orphan instead, when he was just learning the art of stealth and thus caught by surprise.

* * *

The transfer was decided to take place in a neutral, neighbouring country with some stricter gun laws than the country he stole the (ridiculously hideous, and crudely drawn) painting. In that case, Harry and his client had chosen Canada, specifically a little but prestigious academy for technical sciences, Polytechnique in Montreal, Quebec.

It was chosen because it was close by to where Harry liberated the painting, it was public so it was less likely for all parties involved to make any hostile moves against the other, and it was in a country where it was difficult to obtain a proper firearm.

When Harry had gotten to the university in question, he had known that he was early; it was standard for Harry to scout out the area in person, in the case of any treachery. This method had been very advantageous in the past so as some people he had worked with thought wrongly that it would be better for them not to pay Harry for his work.

The meeting place was decided to be set indoors as it was a particularly cold day. With it being Montreal, it was expected that in the winter months it would be particularly cold, and that day was no exception with the way thick clumps of white fell onto the ants below, mixed with harsh winds whipping away any residual heat built up on the surface of objects.

When Harry's driver reached the academy Harry's client owned, Harry took note of the way the white, natural constructs flickered into sight by the floodlights anchored onto the sides of the building. With the low amount of light available despite the floodlights' efforts, the naked eye was limited in what it could see; namely, the human eye was limited to seeing black and white. And, despite all of his superiority, Harry was no different in this. If he were prone to do so, the harsh greys of black and white vision would have placed him on edge. As it was, Harry was _always_ on edge; his survival demanded him to be so. At least, that was what his instincts told him.

When Harry entered the place of learning, he was not paid much attention due to a few reasons, mostly because people did not tend to look down on his height level, and he was purposefully avoiding detection of any kind.

Harry had been content with his environments following a cursory inspection to check his facts of multiple routes in the meeting place. He was quite aware that he most certainly did _not_ have the home field advantage at this meeting and was trying to mitigate that as much as he could.

* * *

The imperial woman stood regally before him, with her own Royal Guard in the form of a hunk of muscle that towered over everyone nearby. Briefly, Harry wondered if the man was in any way related to André Roussimoff. This was his client, the woman that owned the institution that they were in, clad in her business appropriate fit for her station as a boss.

Thus far, the handoff was going quite well; the identities of the individuals involved were confirmed via their mutual contact, the finder's fee was paid, the funds and painting were authenticated, and the handoff happened with all three parties satisfied.

That was until they heard gunshots emanating relatively nearby.

The Royal Guardian must have been good at his chosen field as instead of the instinctive act of protecting himself from harm, his first priority was keeping his boss safe. Well, it was either that, or he was infatuated with the woman for more than just her money.

Harry, himself, was close enough to his contact that he was able to push her to the floor to minimise the chance of her getting hit. After the initial shot, there was a smattering of shots, slowly getting louder over the span of seconds.

The assailant was heading in their direction.

Having noted the surprise or anger of the other occupants of the meeting, Harry quickly deduced that it was not a play on their part. It was good, as that meant he didn't have to teach them the error in such an action. Instead, he would need only to persuade the shooter to stop breathing, permanently. Harry had a standing policy to neutralise any idiot to interrupt his business in the most painful way possible.

With a dark look, Harry made his way to the door, only to place his back against the wall just beside it as there was a glass window in it. Looking at the room before him, he was pleased to note that the others were not idiots and had gotten out of the line of sight of the window. Standing there, Harry closed his eyes and had started to pay _very_ close attention to his sense of sound. He held up his hand and, as the seconds passed, he counted down until he had no fingers held up anymore.

Then, his eyes popped open, he took in the fact that everyone else was curiously looking at him, and he looked over through the door window. He smirked slightly when he saw a man with a gun, a Ruger Mini-14 rifle by his guess, already have walked passed the window. Slowly, so as not to alert the rampaging man of his presence, he opened the door. With ghosted steps, he sprinted forward and jumped on the man's back. He grabbed ahold of the weapon itself, and effortlessly clicked on the gun's safety before the man registered what had happened.

The man flailed in a vain attempt to dislodge the child off of his back. Harry grinned, briefly reminded of the time he had tried riding horseback. What the man tried was child's play, in comparison to that.

Within moments, Harry had been able to forcefully subdue the man into compliance. Well, compliance having been that of a newly dead man.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you all enjoyed and I would love it if you took the time to write a review.**

 **The shooting at a school named Polytechnique did, in fact, happen in Quebec. It just didn't happen in the way that I wrote it. You should look it up.**


	6. 5: Frat Boys?

_Previously:_

" _Within moments, Harry had been able to forcefully subdue the man into compliance. Well, compliance having been that of a newly dead man."_

* * *

Chapter 5

* * *

Harry rushed with his little legs to where he knew his client, her bodyguard, and his contact was. He knocked, knowing that it was very probable for him to get shot if he had just barged in. He heard the gruff voice of the bodyguard bidding him entrance before he opened the door. The bodyguard lowered the knife he was prepared to throw, and with a sigh proclaimed an all clear. The other two occupants of the room poked their heads out in curiosity to see Harry standing there, and Harry clearly ordered, "Follow me."

It tickled Harry's sense of humour that they all did so, without question.

He led them through winding, little-used, hallways and out of a service side door of the building into the cold weather. However, it was not before the three had seen the shooter's body and the wrong orientation of its head. "Jesus," Harry heard his client mutter at the painful sight.

"I have a standing policy to neutralise any idiot that interrupts my business in the quickest, most painful way possible. That, and I especially hate it when some jumped-up moron that thinks it'd be a good idea to shoot harmless civvies for no apparent reason," Harry answered the unasked question.

Outside, in the cold Montreal winter air, his client asked, "Why are you helping us?"

To which Harry replied, "Because I protect my clients, so long as they don't betray me. It's in my best interest for if you wish to do business in the future. Now, if you'll excuse me, my driver is waiting to take me to the bank."

"If you don't mind, I have another job offer for you. If you are interested, come to my London office at this time for the details regarding a protection detail," with that piece said, the imperial looking woman and her Royal Guardian got into the SUV that pulled up and left.

Harry was, indeed, interested in what the woman was proposing this far, and when he was able he got some of his contacts to look into it for him. The possible scenarios they were able to come up with was enough for Harry to show up at the women's London offices at the given time.

* * *

Harry strode confidently past the from threshold and towards the front desk in the luxurious looking lobby; Harry expected nothing less from the type of people to make it into his clientele like. "Mrs Edwardson is expecting me," Harry said by way of catching the assistant's attention.

Like a true professional the woman merely smiled and asked, "And what is your name?"

"She knows be by the name of Harry," Was the reply. The woman merely nodded with the connected phone already on its way to her ear.

The woman had a short secretarial conversation over the phone before she placed the phone back on its cradle and told Harry, "Just go right on up to the top floor; she is ready for you now."

Harry gave a merger nod of acceptance before heading to the elevator to the right of the desk and requesting the elevator shuttle. Barely a moment passed, during which Harry had inspected his nails to reinforce the better-than-thou look of his, and then the door opened to reveal an empty y lavish elevator car. When he got in he had pressed the button for the top floor, a floor reserved strictly for one woman's office, and waiting in the moving, thankfully quiet, car.

"Harry," he was treated to the sound of his own name being called by the owner of the office the moment he stepped out into the comparatively more lavish office. It was an odd, but entirely logical design in Harry's opinion, that made it apparent that the owner was very chaotically organised. What at first appeared to be a messy office floor with multiple absent workers was in reality one very large, singular office, sectioned off into smaller job-specific working environments with its own exceedingly large desk facing an eightieth-floor window. There was even a noticeable difference in decor depending on the area; it was obvious to Harry that it was an intelligent attempt at psychologically manipulating one's own mind to focus on a particular topic rather than wander off onto different tasks.

Harry headed to where the woman's voice came from while he replied to the greeting with one of his own.

At that moment the woman was situated at the only desk that had family memorabilia on it, a dead giveaway of what the topic at hand would be about, as no other working area had anything "family" about it.

Harry stood behind a chair with his arms resting on said chair's backrest; it was a silent request for Mrs Edwardson to invite him to a seat. Harry was well aware that this was _her_ office and as such he was to give her the respect deserved, not to mention that this was essentially a job interview despite the fact that she was the one offering the job. He was rewarded with Mrs Edwardson, arguably the wealthiest woman alive and a self-made one to boot, offered him a seat.

Harry sat on his suit coat to preserve it from wrinkles.

"So, a protection detail. Who is it for and for how long will it be?" Harry got the meeting going, despite having an idea about what it was, he refused to let anyone show just how much he already knew.

"It is for my son Hunter. I'm sending him away to a prestigious boarding school in Switzerland for the first time, and he's quite young so I want someone there that would be able to protect him for the school year. The school doesn't allow for any bodyguards on campus, so I was hoping to hire you for the school year to protect him."

Harry cocked his head slightly to the side and asked, "What are you worried will happen to your son while he is away? What enemies of yours do you think will be the most threat?"

"The normal worry of someone that might try to hold him hostage simply because of who he is, and also I'm worried that one of the other families might try to neutralise him, despite the agreement to avoid any intentional harm to children. Specifically, I'm worried about the more triad-friendly families." Over the desk, Mrs Edwardson slid a thick dossier with more in-depth information on what, exactly, she was proposing.

After going through the contents of the dossier thoroughly and with some negotiations with his client, and activity that took half an hour at most, Mrs Edwardson asked, "So, do you accept my offer?"

* * *

Across from Harry sat a boy intensely scrutinising him with stormy grey, flickering eyes. This boy was to be his younger brother Hunter for the upcoming next school year, or so was the disguise Mrs Edwardson, the widow everyone wished to either be or be with, had been able to come up with. His name was to be Harold, the heir apparent to the Edwardson fortunes, and thus bringing plenty more harm his way than his "younger brother" Hunter. Thankfully, miraculously, the public knew next to nothing of the Edwardson home life, enough that so little was known about the Edwardson clan that they didn't even have a picture to match to what they looked like. Thus, it would be understandable that they might not have known about, say, the fact that there were two children of Elisabeth Edwardson nee Stirling.

The backstory was that Harold Edwardson (Harry) wished to experience what it was like to be in a boarding school like the other "rich kids", as he felt he was missing some part of the experience with the unschooling method he had been using previously. It would be only natural, of course, that seeing his "Big Brother" do something, he would wish to do it too, so Hunter would enter for a year as well.

In reality, Hunter was the one to wish to experience a school, and Harold aka Harry was just going to provide some protection.

Hunter shifted in his seat again, before he spoke with the prepubescent pitch of his age group, "So you are supposed to be my 'overprotective big brother'? You look younger than me! Are you even qualified to work as any type of guard?" He was sceptical, which was understandable given the good points he had brought up.

"I assure you that I am good enough to impress your mother without intending to do so. Besides, the unassuming look just makes it easier for me to do my job." Harry winked and grinned wider than he was before when Hunter's eyes only narrowed further in turn.

"... Right," Hunter replied after a while. "We still don't look alike, though," He pointed out.

"Siblings don't have to look alike, I look enough like your late father that it shouldn't be questioned," was what Harry countered with. Mentally, Harry smirked as originally he did not, in fact, look like one Frederick Edwardson before his demise. At least, originally he didn't. It was a short while ago that Harry had been able to effect his looks through an intense desire to look like something else - to blend in. He had found it out quite accidentally when he had had such a need in his career and had managed a glimpse in his reflection. Ever since Harry had been toying with the ability so as to best apply it in differing situations. He had even been able to determine that the features would stay the same throughout a semblance of permanence.

So, with this comparatively recent ability discovered, Harry was able to shift his features so that he looked like a miniature version of the deceased, blonde and well-built multi-billionaire. It wasn't a significant change, basically just Harry's base shoulder width and the style and colour of his hair, but it went a very long way in how people recognised him. He needn't have changed his eye colour, as his "mother" had green eyes, albeit not the same shade.

Hunter, alternatively, looked mostly like a male version of his mother, save for his eyes. His hair was a natural burnt red colour, carefully styled close to his head, with stormy-grey eyes that stared intently at whatever they settled on, only to release it from their gaze when their owner lost interest.

The initial distrust Hunter had towards Harry, or to him "Harold", was slowly diminished in intensity as Harry spent more and more time with him. In fact, it did not take long for Hunter to start to treat Harry like an actual older brother, him having secretly wanted one his whole life but understanding that it wouldn't have been physically possible. The "not taking long" was relative, of course, as it took a full month before Hunter fully warmed up to the _idea_ of Harold. Thankfully they were close enough by September and their placement tests that they easily passed for close brothers.

Harry was pleasantly surprised to note he did not have to hold back as much as he thought he had to. He had made his client take all of the placement tests before he did it so as to match the boy's classes and thus be close enough to protect his charge. It just simply would not work if Harry accidentally graduated out of the school prematurely and thus defeat the purpose of the entire plan. It turned out that Hunter was a little genius as he had tested out of every year save for the graduating senior year.

Harry had watched with great amusement as people had showered their attentions on a very abashedly shy Hunter as he had not realised what he was actually capable of in terms of the average, as well as not being used to so much attention. Finally deciding it was enough torturous fame for poor Hunter, Harry had stepped in and fought those present away from him. It was then his turn to test out of the years to be able to enter senior year.

Harry had written his tests in such a way that he had aced all of the years leading up to the final, but then had scored just under the requirements to graduate that year or test out. Essentially, he had done his job in taking the attentions of the populace off of his charge so as to both protect him and give him the most normal experience possible.

* * *

After the trying process of all of the tests her son had gone through, Elisabeth Edwardson glanced warily at the child she had hired as a bodyguard for him.

She was worried that the boy, for she was no fool and a mother and thus was able to maternally _know_ that it was a child and not some homunculus, would not be able to get into the last year like her precious little genius. Apparently, her thoughts were plainer on her face than she had thought originally, as the boy had made eye contact with her and gave an amused wink. Then she watched her, for all intents and purposes her adopted a son, walk close to where she was and shoo people away.

The action made her realise that she _was_ smothering her son just a little bit, and she supposed that if the rest of the close-knit family was acting anything like her than her poor boy would be overwhelmed. She mentally cursed herself for not realising her son's distress while the apparent stranger, for all the amount of time that they knew him, was able to see it and act on the fact.

She really hoped that Harry would be able to get into the same classes as her son, as he would not only be able to keep him safe, but she could see that they were going to be great friends; he was going to be a good influence on her son, she thought.

When it came back, a week later after Harry's tests were scored, that he had one-upped her son Elizabeth had mixed emotions. On one hand, she was glad that Harry was going to be able to best protect her son, she was glad that he was able to divert some of the obvious unwanted attention away from her biological son, and she was glad that she hadn't hired an idiot in that he clearly could have tested out of the school entirely.

Imagine that, testing out of an entire secondary and post-secondary school.

On the other hand, Elizabeth was worried that her son might get very discouraged by being in the shadow of what was essentially his bodyguard, and all the problems thereof.

It was times like that, that Elizabeth was happy she had chosen to get the two to live together before sending them off to school together. In but a year her son will graduate from the most prestigious school in the world, in Switzerland, studying to become a medical doctor and later to apply for the training required to become a full doctor.

They grow up so fast.

* * *

 **A/N: So, I hope you all enjoyed chapter 5 of this story. Chapter 6 will be part of their first and last year at a college in Switzerland. Chapter 7 will probably be the last semester of that year and graduation. I don't honestly know yet, though. I guess it all depends on what I choose to include in it.**


	7. 6: Lemon Juice

**Chapter 6**

* * *

Harry was a perfectionist. Well, he was a mild perfectionist in his own opinion, as he did not go to the lengths of which he would neglect other responsibilities in favour of others, no matter how much he might loath one of those responsibilities. Such was the problem of growing up _way_ too quickly: Harry was unable to have the same experience of being able to skive off any. If he were to neglect any aspect of his life, it could result in someone's death, serious injury, or even incarceration.

Take his newest charge for an example. Hunter was his to protect and to look after. His mother had hired Harry to make sure that her heir lived on unharmed both physically as well as mentally. After all, it would be the height of irresponsibility to name an unstable person as an heir.

It was also why Harry had personally inspected the plane they were going to take from where they were vacationing in Holland to Switzerland, though he did it in such a way that it was disguised as something that looked like a child that was _very_ interested in jets. He double checked to make sure that the pilots were both sober and competent by asking many questions and seemingly forgetting the concept of personal space until he was satisfied. He had ran background checks on them beforehand, of course, but it was always a good idea to double check. That wasn't even mentioning the poor flight attendants.

He hated flying when he wasn't the pilot; he much preferred his own private jet, as that was at least bearable despite still not being in the pilot's seat.

* * *

They had visited the campus beforehand, but it was still a very trying endeavour in trying to find where their dorms were, and everything else. They were met by plenty of stares as they made their way around, which Harry thought made sense considering that they were supposedly a ten year old and an eleven year old, with Harry taking the spot of eleven; Harry was actually eight at the time, but the identity he was using was eleven.

They were both very grateful that they both knew the local language, in fact they were both minoring in linguistics, but they still did not seek the help of the students milling about. It took a good half an hour to find their dorms, and another fifteen minutes to find their, thankfully, shared room.

Due to their jet lag, they were rather sluggishly tiered, and Hunter had opted to just shower then sleep. Harry had instead insisted he set up some basic security systems connected to a team in Harry's employ that had already gotten to Switzerland and over their jet lag. Honestly, Harry would more likely offer the person a job if they even managed to get past him, as it took some exceptional talent and skill to get past a master thief and occasional bounty hunter.

He may have been a thief in the name of restoring an object into the possession of the rightful owner, but he was still a thief; he may take the odd bounty pro bono but he was still a bounty hunter.

Only after Harry was finished unpacking, setting up, and checked in with the campus that both he and his brother had arrived and were in their proper rooms, did he allow himself to sleep.

Thankfully, their first class started in the afternoon the next day and not the morning, which left plenty of time from their midday arrival to reset their biological clockwork.

* * *

It was their first class together, in a class of a surprisingly low one-hundred, that the professor had stared at them curiously. He had started the class with, "You must be the Edwardson brothers, am I right?" Hunter nodded his head easily, while Harry maintained a cool, collected expression.

"Is there a problem, Professor?" Harry asked.

The professor nodded sincerely and said in brutal honesty, "I might trip over you two." The class chuckled at how true the statement was, as the man looked like a giant, and the lecture started up again.

* * *

Just a month into the school year, there was an attempt to kidnap Harry _and_ Hunter. Thankfully, no harm came to them as Harry was able to "pull a spy" and had easily gotten them out of the situation. He himself didn't feel like dealing with the kidnappers directly, and instead contacted the local Law Enforcement Officers to do it. It had the benefit of keeping his giuse up more easily than if he hadn't called the LEOs like a normal scared child civvie.

He followed up to make sure they were properly dealt with, of course, but he didn't directly deal with them.

Some of the other seniors had found out about the attempt, and with them having become something of "the little brothers" of the entire graduating year, they had reacted in such a way that they seamlessly reflected that fact.

Harry was getting frustrated with the fact that all of these people kept hugging him and his brother; he couldn't effectively protect him if people kept getting so close. Shouldn't they know that it generally wasn'ty a good idea to try to touch a child prodigy, anyway?

To add to the already compromised security by way of infatuated college seniors, and despite Harry et al's best efforts, information had been leaked to the press regarding Harry and Hunter. It was aggravating to say the least, but Harry had known that it would eventually happen.

* * *

Because of what Harry was, he sometimes had certain urges that he felt the need to give in to. One such urge manifested itself in the form of a nice side mission he had undertaken.

There existed a certain bulletin-board like system that distinguished some odd-jobs that certain people would like to be completed. Harry, himself, utilised such a board before, as he had requested certain items to be acquired he felt he himself shouldn't accomplish. He had also utilised it in the opposite stream where he would take on certain jobs, for a price.

Despite Harry's chosen profession of thievery, he had a strict moral code he imposed upon himself. Not that he was morally conscious or a generally good person, mind, but because he felt life would be worth more and more exciting if he were to limit certain aspects of himself through morals. Thus, Harry would never steal an item from its rightful owner nor would he bring undue harm upon another.

That went so far as to never knowingly work with rapists, slavers, pedephiles, abusers, or the honorless.

In fact, if Harry noted a price on someone's head from being one of them, Harry would make it a point to assassinate them without charge.

It also happened to be one of Harry's insatiable urges: action in the form of assassination.

That was why Harry was looking through the sights attached to a compound bow, aimed at a target named William von Rattackan. His target was a forty-seven year old pedophile that kept a slave girl locked within an underground "playroom" on private property. He was approximately one-hundred kilograms of white male calmly presenting to a board of directors supposedly oblivious to the man's true actions. Save for one: the man's best friend since childhood.

Her name was Adeline Williams, a forty-four year old English woman that held an imperceptible strained look upon her face. She was not, surprisingly, one of Harry's targets. Instead, she was the one to offer up the bounty on William's head, and thus gained Harry's approval for her sense of morals overcoming what she knew of as her childhood friend's charms.

Harry exhaled, and on the exhale, let the arrow fly.

One William von Rattackan was reduced from a fit two-hundred-twenty pound man to an almost useless corpse upon the boardroom floor via a custom arrow with a message attached stating: "Payment Need Not Apply."

Now, Harry had made a promise to a young lady named "Pretty Bird."

* * *

It did not take long for Harry to find the underground room again. He had two of his crew following silently behind him, spectres as they were removed from all that was around them, and two more that followed them each. They made no noise as they walked past the hopeless-looking marked and degraded humans around them, heading to where a slight whimper was coming from "centre stage".

Harry absently noted that his spectres detached themselves from the formation they held while they walked into the room, and had begun to sweep the room for anymore threats. It was only after the room was deemed safe and two more joined the guards outside that the spectres started to tend to the abused slaves around the room. Harry himself was occupied by the centrepiece of the room.

Within a wire-cage sat a young,achingly thin, girl with hair so dirty and shaggy that the original colour was indiscernible, and littered with minute red cuts about her nude body. The domed wire-cage itself was barely tall enough for the young girl to stand at a crouch, made of what appeared to be silver, and upon the base of it written in what Harry assumed to be the girl's blood was a name tag, "Pretty Bird."

"My dear," Harry called, garnering the girl's startled attention, "I have come to set you free. The bad man has died." By the end of Harry's short explanation of his presence, he had already opened the cage door, and was about to step into the cage before stopping himself. He looked up to see a jug of precariously placed, to what his senses could find, lemon juice. That would be hell if it fell onto the poor girl, Harry knew from experience, and he also could tell that the juice would fall if there was any added weight onto the cage.

"You came!" The girl exclaimed in tortured delight, with a noticeable scratch to her voice.

"I never break a promise," Harry said. He noted that she did not move, not an inch, and he wondered if it was because of the sensitivity of the pressure sensor the cage was placed on, or if it was from the inability to do so. Harry decided to ask as such, "I am able to move, I think," was the girl's answer.

Harry nodded, and then went about climbing a support beam intent on removing the threat of lemon juice, after he had removed some of his more heavy equipment.

He reached the top of the climb, took the jug off of the trigger-plate, and told the girl that it was alright for her to move again. He heard her hiss as she started to move slowly out of the gilded prison made for her, and he winced in sympathy at the feeling of pulling skin from the slowly healing cuts. Harry dropped off of the ledge he had used for removing the citrus acids, and had silently landed in front of the abused girl. He picked up his coat from where he had left it to climb, and, ignoring the girl's nakedness, he draped it around the girl's shivering shoulders.

"Is this real?" Harry heard the same tortured voice whisper near him, and seamlessly Harry replied.

"Yes," he said simply, "This is really happening." Thankfully the girl's salty tears streamed down an untouched face. "Now, let's get those wounds of yours treated, shall we?" Harry noticed the girl wobble on her feet, probably too tired from all that she endured or not used to standing to make it far walking. So, Harry picked the girl up bridal style, and carried her out of the building.

* * *

Ranger Left Tennant Wildbore watched the proceedings in slight awe as a group of black-clad figures had stormed a building that was on the watch of the Rangers for a while, and had only then gained enough indication to permit a raid. Their data indicated that the building was a depot for a slave trade, headed by one William von Rattackan, and a strike had been ordered on William and a raid of all of his properties, but when the Left Tennant had made to engage the man they only found a dead body. Now, when they made it to the required area they were beaten again. At least they got a chance to see those responsible in action.

He watched as the force storm the building and heard the distinct sound of muffled gunfire with the sight of flashes that indicated hostility in the building. He watched as the action died down, and then as a significantly smaller black-clad form appeared in the edge of his vision and approach the scene. It was accosted with two more men following behind them, and Left Tennant Wildbore made the correct connection that they were in a position of authority over the black-clad men.

He watched the new grouping enter into the building, and not long after, he witnessed that same figure now maskless and coatless carrying another figure in their arms. The other figure was wrapped in the coat, and Wildbore made the connection that the now identifiable figure as a boy was there for benign purposes. The boy carrying the figure wrapped in his coat was preceded by more black-clad figures carrying their own loads of liberated slaves.

The boy's head suddenly snapped to Wildbore's position, and Wildbore's eyes widened and he high-tailed it out of there, intent on getting back to Ranger HQ so as to report the new development.

* * *

 **A/N: I know this chapter is a little late, plus a little light in size, but I didn't think I could fit anything else within the chapter.**

 **As a side note, I don't plan on any sort of pairings for this story, sorry. That, and the Rangers are borrowed from "You Cannot Save the World" by Lady Celestial Star. I suggest you read that story, seeing as I really enjoyed it, despite it not being complete yet. The story ID is 10655211**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and I implore all of you to both review and take care.**

 **I'll see you all next time!**


	8. 7: Down Range

It took a few weeks before the Rangers had found any mention of the description given by Left Tennant Wildbore. Three maddening weeks, in fact. To make matters worse, it wasn't even through the Ranger's vast resources available to them that they managed to find a link to the manhunt that they conducted. Instead, it was a blurred image of a side-shot of the blonde haired, green eyed boy. In fact, Wildbore himself had seen the image on a celebrity "news" outlet and had brought the image in for the Rangers to show whom he had meant. At least the Rangers now knew the name of the boy and the location.

It was a small consolation. A very small consolation, especially considering that they hadn't been able to identify any of the others there; not even the slaves that had been carried out had been identified.

It mattered not, for now, they had the images entered into their systems, and what was more, they had the supposed leader identified.

It was a surprising identification, as the image matched that of an eleven-year-old supposed prodigy child, eldest son of a businesswoman that had a net worth upwards of a billion credits.

* * *

"Credits: Due to the vast amount of people from different countries, cultures and species, the Rangers are given their pay on a card. (Centaurs, however, are paid with the currency they prefer, herbs and plants) This card, no matter what form of a card a particular establishment takes, will be accepted anywhere. It will appear on any reports that show as a standard common credit card line, varying from place to place. The card is even able to take out money from an ATM machine should they need it (though paper or coin money can be taken out a Ranger Treasury, located at select places around the world). Converging the Ranger credits to Civilian credits would result in a vast amount of money and even a recruit who had only been with the Rangers for less than four months would find their pay equivalent to the amount one would need to purchase a middle-income home and be able to maintain it for ten years.

"The cards themselves are given enhanced security codes and identity theft protection. If someone were to be foolish enough to try to steal a Ranger's financial identity, the Rangers who work with the Ranger Treasury, pick up on the identity theft immediately, by studying the handwriting. As a added security measure, Rangers have to call ahead and let them know what and where they would be purchasing from, using Various codes while they were in the store or at the checkout. When an identity theft is in progress, the Ranger's then send an anonymous call to the local constabulary about the theft and the thieves are arrested through normal means. The cards are deactivated and if the Ranger had been found negligent with the card, loses the privilege of the card for two years and has to rely on the Treasury for their civilian purchases needs." (Taken from You Cannot Save the World, ID 10655211, Chapter 28: Hunter, by Lady Celestial Star, author ID 3533063)

* * *

The son was last spotted in the local Switzerland prestigious post-secondary schooling. Local being a very loose term applied in that case, as in actuality the boy's spotting was over three hundred kilometres away, within an hour of the time of the death of their own target.

In regards to the death of the monster itself, the arrow used had been analysed in hopes of finding out where the boy had gotten such an item from, but that end of investigation had ended up null. The only thing that they could discern about the arrow was that it was custom-made, not matching any manufacturers, and was for compound bows.

From the fruitless endeavours that they had embarked on, they knew that the boy was, at the very least, a cripplingly private person. Well, crippling for them and their organisation. If anything it only denoted the boy to be a professional, as disturbing as such a realisation it was, it was already supported by the report that Left Tennant Wildbore had given.

Considering just who his parents were, though, the Rangers considered that the boy's apparent knowledge and learnings weren't all that suspicious in how he had gained them. It was not a far leap to assume that the boy's mother had provided the boy whatever kind of tutor he wanted as it was not outside of her own financial reach. The news article itself outlined some of the boy's supposed brief history that the reporter was able to dig up, which in itself was not very informative as it mostly regarded his mother's accomplishments. It was understandable, as it was and eleven-year-old boy. However, it did add that the boy was at a prestigious university in Switzerland and that he was studying to become a doctor along with his younger brother. It was intriguing to the world, apparently, as a pair of pre-pubescent boys intelligent enough to study at a university level was markedly uncommon, so much so that it was unprecedented in letting such a young age enrol in any post-secondary institution of higher learning.

For that alone, the boy and his brother should have been placed on the Ranger's watchlist for at least recruitment. Added on the other facets of the boy's circumstances and they should have already have had him in their extensive sights, but alas, there was not such a thing as perfection.

Either way, at least the Rangers now knew about the possible ally or threat.

They knew not if they were a threat or an ally in any way yet, which was why they planned on approaching them.

* * *

He detected no hostility from them, which was a bonus, but he still knew that they were not necessarily who they proposed to be. They felt off, and Harry knew that it was through his own instincts that he could tell that they were dangerous. He felt wary of them, only amplified by the fact that there were no other indications to their dangerousness other than Harry's own innate instincts. Internally, Harry felt something shift, shake, and shimmer, as if it was trying to reach out and touch them, to examine them thoroughly to determine their true threat level instead of a vague aura of danger.

Harry did not let it, though, as he knew that there was a small possibility that they would pick up on it. He did not wish to alert them to anything more than they appeared to know about him and his brother, and based off of the obviously dampened aura of danger, he thought that the "small" possibility skyrocketed to a near ninety percent likelihood. In other words, it was not within his favour to use that particular ability, even though it would have afforded him some information of particular import.

The summation of the man and woman that introduced themselves as Doctors Nicodemus and Flanders only took a moment, at which time it took for them to introduce themselves. Or, more accurately, for them to approach Harry and Hunter in the first place. When they had offered their hands for them to shake, Harry had returned the gesture, but the procedure Harry had drilled into Hunter from the start had expressed itself in the form of Hunter seamlessly stepping behind Harry.

The body language was clear: Harry was Hunter's shield, his older brother, his protector, and was not to be harmed for fear of what Harry might do. It was made doubly clear by the way that Harry held himself, that he was not to be trifled with, and that extended to Hunter in his protection.

When Harry's had come in contact with the others, he took it in like the true purpose of shaking hands became custom; he took all of the information he could about their hands that he could and he applied it to the characters before him. The one on the right, an older gentlemen that introduced himself as Dr Nicodemus had surgeon's hands: they were rough from the scrubbings that they had to be put through in order to enter into a surgery and still be sanitary, while at the same time they were delicate in their long, thin fingers, and steadiness.

The one on the left was markedly younger, denoted by his full, colourful hair and fewer lines upon his face than the other. It mattered not to Harry as to their true age, he just knew they were older and past their prime in his young mind. His hands were rough with calluses, placed in positions that denoted the use of, of what Harry could tell, certain weapons would be held. From experience he could tell that the man was at least familiar with archery, what with the placement of said callouses and where a bow's arrow rested in Harry's own skilled hands and the drawstring rested on the fingers of his right hand. However, Harry could also tell that the man's hands were similar to that of Dr Nicodemus in that it, too, had pianist fingers and a steady hold.

Eerily, Harry noted that the two before him had summed up some of him just by the shake of a hand, in that they felt the callousness of his young hands. He was very grateful that he was always careful to use skin softening techniques on his hands for that very reason so that it masked the full extent of his abilities.

He made a note that the two before him did not have the foresight to do so, despite their obvious intellect and skill.

With the introductions and pleasantries out of the way, the two men had then gotten onto the topic of why they were there. The elder of the two, Dr Nicodemus, spoke, "We were wondering, Misters Edwardson and Edwardson, if you would be interested in an apprenticeship with us at our hospital Last Chance of Mercy in Trenton, Ontario, Canada, in order to become full doctors and complete your residency. It had come to our attention that you both have extraordinary talent in the field, enough so to skip quite a few years of schooling, and we would be honoured if you would be willing to complete your residency at my hospital."

Harry knew of the hospital they spoke of; it was infamous in its selectivity of both the doctors it hires and its patients. It was known and hated well in criminal circles, as it had a reputation of fixing those that the criminals of the world despised, namely those that worked to make criminals disappear. They never surfaced, as well, as far as Harry could tell. They never showed up in any prison in the world that he knew of, and they never had a death certificate issued to them with any nationality. It mattered not to him, really, as the recognised figures that went to the hospital if they were at all injured never seemed to catch wind of Harry or his own organisation.

Or, perhaps, they had, but their own morals coincided with Harry's self-imposed rules. It was an interesting concept, and if Harry accepted the job offer, he could both become a full doctor and perhaps gain more information pertaining to the mysterious clientele.

From the backwards glance Harry made behind him, while he kept the two men within his periphery, Harry could tell by Hunter's face that he was very much interested in the offer. He obviously knew of the secretive prestigious hospital, and odd innate need to help people was telling him to take the offer based solely on the reputation of the hospital. The problem was that Harry and Hunter knew that the hospital was not a teaching hospital. At least, if it was, it took great care in not letting that information public.

It was probably a teaching hospital in the sense that it only taught prospecting doctors based on the selection of its own personal doctors. It was also interesting that they didn't need the graduation of Harry and Hunter from a medical school like a normal teaching hospital but from a university. It was interesting, but then again, they did have a four point zero grade point average, they were pre-pubescent boys, and they had skipped to their senior year just through testing out of all of the other classes. Thus, it shouldn't have been a real surprise that they had been able to be offered the jobs in their senior year of the university instead of in medical school. Harry assumed that they planned on teaching them, themselves, right from the start.

Finally, after the silent few seconds it took for Harry to contemplate all of the information and compile it into viable options, he said to the two doctors, "We will think about it."

The elder two nodded his head in acceptance, "Of course, of course! Here is my card in case you have any questions about our offer." He handed the card over, and his coworker did the same. Harry took them graciously, and with a final nod, the men left them be. Harry watched them leave, with suspicious eyes, and when they finally left, he looked down at the cards in his hand.

He stared at the cards, each in turn, taking in the information before he felt it. The cards had a feeling attached to them that Harry pegged as a curiosity, mixed with a dash of intrusiveness, and he didn't like it. The last time that Harry had ignored such a feeling, sensitive information had somehow been leaked about one of his clients, and he had taken it upon himself to track down the source and eliminate it as well as all the links along the way. That time, when Harry was provided with the same feeling, he knew that somehow the card he held had a type of listening device within it.

Thus, Harry had simply memorised the contact information held within the letters made of ink and turned to a man that was smoking near them.

He asked, "Could I borrow a light?" The smoker was confused as to why the young one needed a light but nonetheless handed the lighter over. Harry thanked the man, then promptly lit both of the business cards on fire, dropping them on the ground before him, then gave the lighter back.

"Why did you do that?!" He heard Hunter demand, and Harry turned to his "brother" with a glib eye.

Then, "Don't worry, I memorised their contact information."

* * *

Harry stood back from the familial argument before him, over the satphone between Hunter and his mother. It took some convincing on Hunter's end, but finally with a sigh and Harry's input of, "The current threat will be dealt with by the time Hunter will go off to complete his residency," Mrs Edwardson gave in.

"Fine," the widow had sighed, "Just make sure to stay with one of your guards at all times." With that final order given, Hunter had given a rather childish cheer, and the over-the-phone conversation ended.

And so, the decision was made that once Harry and Hunter graduated from their medical program and the threat against Hunter's life was over, Hunter would go off to Ontario, Canada to become a doctor at one of the best teaching hospitals in the world.

Mind, the decision process had taken a good few months as Harry had his contacts run extensive background checks on first the doctors that had approached Harry and Hunter on the hospital's behalf, as well as the hospital itself. Then, Harry had taken the findings and reports and compared them with other sources. If there were any conflicts, Harry would then investigate the point himself in order to get the best information possible about the situation. It was extensive research that he conducted, and on top of what he was already doing with his studies, it made his life interesting.


	9. 8: The Sky is Redd

Chapter 8: The Sky is Redd

It took until Hunter and Harry's graduation for Harry to hunt down the threat against Hunter's family. When that threat was dealt with, namely with a few well-placed plastic explosives, Harry was finally able to consider it time for Hunter to no longer his services.

However, Mrs. Edwardson thought it best if she kept Harry's team on the payroll. She did so by allowing Harry to keep his identity with the family, a nearly priceless commodity for Harry to be able to get between countries unmolested.

When Hunter finally took the offer up to complete his residency in Canada, Harry did not go with him because of this. He instead went farther South of the border to the United States. He had some contacts to refresh from his absence, and some sensitive assets that needed securing after the long period away.

He had others doing just so when he was away, but he liked to have a personal touch on occasion. There was only so much that a person could trust in another.

In fact, that was the embodiment of one of Harry's contacts. His name was Raymond Reddington, a man that had no friends, but was all the same one of the most respected in the criminal underworld. He had a reputation of being a person not to be trifled with. As the head of the Raymond Reddington's syndicate, he was a very powerful individual, and like all powerful individuals, he had a significant number of enemies.

That meant a lot of work for Harry, seeing as Raymond might wish for an assassin one day or a master thief the other. Since Harry was both and didn't have any bad blood with Raymond as of yet, Harry had a standing interest in keeping that contact active as it was very profitable to get the jobs that Ray couldn't deal with.

Albeit few and far between, but they were still there.

"Hello Mr Reddington," Harry called as said man entered his own flat. Red paused and stared at him for a while as who Harry recognised as Dembe had drawn a gun on him. They all knew that the tall black man would not fire the weapon, since Harry was only a kid it was only a formality at this point. "So how goes life for the FBI's most wanted?"

"Oh, you know, a little bit of arrests, a dash of suspense, and a pleasant surprise of finding a friend in my apartment. Please, make yourself at home."

Harry smirked, and said, "Right, well, I only came to inform you that I'll be available for any jobs that come up. My brief leave is over, so you can call on me if you need anything stolen or disposed of." Harry cocked his head to the side and said, "Keep in touch, old man."

Reddington nodded, and said, "Of course kid."

* * *

It was more than possible that this substitute teacher he was after, was aware that someone was going to kill them. After all, they were hiding out under an assumed name as a substitute teacher in a little-known school in Washington, D.C.. However, since they were still going to work Harry was willing to believe that they didn't know that they were made.

When Harry had looked into his target as he was wont to do, he found an individual that loved to insert themselves into a given area with an assumed name, replacing another that had always 'conveniently' disappeared. She'd covered her tracks well, well enough to not draw any attention from the law, but not enough for a blood hound like Harry.

Now, Harry was planning to interrogate this slippery snake before cashing in the bounties on her head for multiple identities she'd carried. The reason for this was that she obviously has a very talented forger under her employ simply because she had not once been caught because of a fault in the name she carried.

Instead, she was one that'd been caught simply by murdering a powerful individual's daughter, while they watched. She might not be sloppy in her initial phase or transition, but if the multiple contracts on her head was anything to go by, she was quite sloppy in her own assassinations.

Now, because of this back-and-forth, Harry had calculated ten million pounds sterling on this person's head. Harry was insanely satisfied when he had met one of her previous identities and followed his instincts to keep tabs on the woman. Now he was cashing in his investment.

Harry was broken out of his internal musings by his subconscious notifying him that he was nearing his target's location. He opened classroom 245's door to find a classroom like any other for primary schools.

His target, a Ms. (Insert name of keen's keeper) looked up from her lessen plan, desk situated to the side of a well-used blackboard underneath an alphabet and number line ribbon. She smiled fakely, a facsimile of a truly caring teacher. "Can I help you?" Her voice was just as fake.

Harry let a slight Russian accent through as he asked, "Ms. Brooks?"

"Yes, that's me."

Harry let relief flood his face as he made his way forward, "Good! I'm new and it took forever to find this homeroom." By the time he finished he was nearing the 'teacher'. He was taking off his pack at the same time, and said, "I have question about the Math Assignment Mama had picked up last week from office." Still there was no suspicion even as he set his pack to the side of the teacher's desk. As he rose to his feet he seamlessly pulled a hypodermic needle, uncapped it, and skillfully injected its contents into his victim.

He'd injected it into the fake's femoral artery, so the fast-acting paralytic, supplied by a friendly snake that lived just a click out from his vacation home in South East Asia. Thankfully it was diluted, otherwise his information would be lost to the grave. The imposter gasped, and in confusion asked, "What?" It was her mistake considering that was the only chance she had to alert others of what was happening.

Harry watched impassively as her movements, her breathing and strength stuttered and jerked to stillness. He could see the fear into the nameless woman's eyes, and he sympathised, he really did, with the helpless feeling she must have flowing through her veins.

Oh, but how adrenaline tastes so good. Besides, he had a job that needed doing, and he was uniquely equipped to handle that job.

Harry snagged the keys hanging from a chain around her neck. He quietly went over to the classroom door, and locked it, placing the conveniently available blackout screen over the window. The irony was not lost on him.

Once done, he stalked to the nameless and then took a comfortable seat facing her.

Now came the hard part.

Harry focused intently on the woman, all that she was and all that she knew. He caught the mental scent of the woman, the flavour of her thoughts seeping into his own.

Once he had a good feel for how this woman's essence tasted, felt, and sounded like by his unique mental senses, Harry grabbed a hold of it, and followed it to the source.

Harry found himself inside this woman's… mental plane, for lack of a better term. It was messy, as Harry had come to expect from his limited experience of invading the minds of random civilians and in ensuring his sentinel's honesty.

However, this time Harry wasn't searching just what was immediately available. He didn't care about the emotions he found there; the symphony of bitter smells and tangy fear was ignored when it landed on his mental tongue. He had to shift the floating and anchored thoughts, those that were the most recent of stray thoughts and longer-term memories, aside in search of specific information about this woman's supplier. He did not note at first the sharp coppery-sweet taste of her pain he felt from his actions; the mindscape was deteriorating and she could feel it in her very being. It was shaking in rebellion at his transgressions, its entire being consisting of disbelief when it, she, thought the reality of what was happening to her was impossible.

Her glass mind was shattering as shock set in with the full force of a freight-train of realisation.

Once noticed, Harry dismissed it. He could be forgiven if this monster ended up a vegetable the rest of its life; he was inexperienced, and besides 'the rest of her life' was only going to be a few minutes more.

He abruptly exited the mental plane after he found the supplier of illicit identification. It had taken a while, but Harry thought it might since the information was hidden and buried as only a well-kept secret would.

He wasted no time in ending the useless life in front of him; it was a simple matter of taking his commando knife out of its sheath only to find a home in both her femoral arteries. He pitied the custodian that'd have to clean up that much blood off the white tiled classroom floor. Since he needed proof in order to receive payment, harry took out a high-end but compact digital camera and took several photos of the body before he carefully hid all of his equipment once again.

He made sure that he didn't get any blood on his feet just yet, since he didn't want any bloody little footprints back to the classroom door for the next part just yet. Quickly he moved away, checked to make sure that the coast was clear then unlocked the classroom door, making sure not to bring down the blackout screen. Once done, he left the door open, ran towards the body and placed her keychain around her neck once more.

That was when two things happened, the first was that he noticed the pitiful, malignant, dying woman's eyes and the second was how he screamed, "Help!" True to his acting ability, his first attempt was a shocked cracking voice, but then again, he screamed as much as his voice would allow without manipulating his body. The second time was much clearer, without the haziness of before his voice rang clear with a perfect imitation of a scared, worried, horrified child.

It didn't take long from there for an adult to arrive, namely the poor custodian that'd have to clean up the mess once forensics was done with the scene and the morgue took the body. Harry could forgive the man's initial response of cussing up a storm. After all, in polite society it's not everyday that he'd see a mangled body with who looked like a 10-year-old boy trying to help them cling to life without any knowledge of first aid.

His second response actually made Harry respect the nearing retirement man: he pulled the nearby fire alarm. Instantly the school was filled with the screeching peal of warning and sound of the harbinger of first-responders. "Come here, son; it's going to be okay, it'll be okay." He beckoned Harry towards him, away from the obviously dead body. Harry stayed, feigning shock, forcing the man to come closer and gently coax Harry out less with words and more of a direct route.

Harry allowed himself to be pulled into the kind man's arms, who until then had a hidden panicked hair about him. 'On my behalf,' Harry belatedly realised. The man, dubbed Henry by his blue caller uniform, shifted Harry's weight to the side as he took out his mobile. Harry could clearly see Henry dial, the local emergency services in Washington.

Harry allowed the conversation to pass by as he reviewed his options in getting away from the situation. Finally, he decided, once the 'qualified' personnel that he'd stay the course with making a show of disappearing into the crowd of students. It was actually easier than he thought, too.

It didn't take long for the various officers to look away from Harry, which conveniently happened when the group was crossing through the front yard, where all of the students, now evacuated, stood in neat lines.

He smirked, and then disappeared into the gaseous reality. He didn't stick around to see the ensuing chaos his disappearance wrought.

* * *

At first his 'client' didn't wish to pay out the aggrieved price. They had apparently seen the very publicised murder of the 'innocent' substitute teacher and had realised who they were. They'd refused to pay him because the news made mention of involvement of a child.

It made sense to Harry on a moral sense, however that didn't bode well for their safety if the person they were supposed to pay were amoral enough to endanger children, especially for the corrupt judge that they were.

Harry didn't know if he was in that category.

Once they were made aware of the fact that Harry _was_ that child, though, it became a non-issue. Though, he did mention that their morals might one day get them killed. They were unsurprisingly alright with that. HE was just slightly bemused that they'd had any morals in the first place about killing if they were ones to call out a hit on someone. Then again, considering what Harry was, he couldn't really judge because of his views on slavery.

Regardless, Harry got his due in the end, so he was satisfied. That was the only transaction of note on morality simply because everyone else had paid the bounty with the normal reluctant satisfaction. Suddenly, Harry became that much richer, along with his 'company' of course.

His sentinels would be less-than-pleased if their boss didn't pay them.

Of course, there was also the cherry on top of it all when Reddington himself had an existing bounty on the woman. He couldn't help but to be a bit smug when he collected that one personally. It always amused him when he managed to accomplish something that the infamous head of the Redd Empire couldn't accomplish. He kept it all well hidden, though, for he liked to pretend professionalism.

* * *

It was a while before Harry got a call from dear old Redd after their last meeting. He let it ring for a full minute before he picked it up, though; it wouldn't do for Redd to think that he'd been waiting for his call, after all. The man had a big enough head as it was.

He was a busy boy: he was currently chin-deep in a heist for one of his clients. He hadn't the faintest idea what was in the thumbprint-locked safety deposit box, and frankly he liked it that way. It was safer if he didn't know, and the pay was good enough for him to discard the faint curiosity he had about it.

Once the checkered ceiling of the vault-room was removed, Harry deigned to answer the call, "What do you want, old man?"

Without so much as a by-you-leave, Redd started, "There is a safety deposit box in the Belize National Bank that I'd like you to steal for me."

Harry took a moment to consider the box he had just removed from the wall before he answered, "And what, prey tell, would be the number of this box?" He really hoped that it wasn't the very same box that his client had their mind dead-set on. After all, it was that same bank he was in.

Thankfully when Redd replied it was a different box to the right of the original. With an audible smirk, Harry replied, "Sure thing. You can have it within the hour. Where do you want to exchange it?"

His smirk widened when he heard the surprise in Redd's voice, and by the time he made his escape and agreed on a price it was nearing shit-eating levels.

* * *

He stared at the woman with long blonde hair, obviously dyed, standing next to Red. She stood with the confidence of an equal, too, which begged the question: "Who is she, Old Man?"

She stared back even as Red seemingly ignored the question, "I was once with a friend of mine in PyeongChang when he made the mistake of asking that very same question of one of the representatives of the Jong-Un family. My late friend didn't last long. Turns out the supposed 'she' in question was actually a 'he'. Who knew?

"Anyway, the safety deposit box?" He ended the impromptu story with a prompt and bringing the attention back to why they were all there.

* * *

 **A/N: I'd advise against ever working full-time and going to school full-time. "Oh, let's have an 8-9 hour field work session on the same day as an 8-hour shift. Yeah, that makes sense." Thankfully that only happened once, but that didn't save me from the rest of the days where I 'only' had three labs in a row, then went to work with a bunch of children.**

 **Anyway, enough of my rant. I am indeed alive, and please feel free to review if you wish. I just hoped that I didn't disappoint.**


End file.
